


And yellow

by Shotgun_Cake



Series: We move like the sea [3]
Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: (gonna make this my signature writing style), (no smut but we still in the gutter), (term coined by boom_slap), A companion piece (of sorts) to ''Something Stolen Something Blue'' but can be read as a stand-alone, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Berlermo Wedding Extended Universe, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa Lives, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wedding Game, Wedding Reception, horny idiots in love, or Fluffy Eroticism™, they're married okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25268530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shotgun_Cake/pseuds/Shotgun_Cake
Summary: "Please, please tell me they’re doing the garter"No, they're not doing the garter. At least, to the best of Andrés's knowledge, they're not doing it. But then again, he shouldn't put it past Martín to try and rile him up on their wedding day.~~~OR: a stand-alone one-shot, that may or may not take place during the Berlermo wedding reception. A deleted scene, if you will. I got sidetracked.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa & Palermo | Martín Berrote, Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Series: We move like the sea [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807702
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	And yellow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boom_slap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/gifts).



> **What I _should_ have done today:** work on "Something stolen, something blue" before people lose interest
> 
>  **What I _actually_ did today:** this

Andrés doesn't gasp.

There is a sharp intake of breath and he can hear it, traitorous, unstoppable, but he doesn't _gasp_.

He just stares at Martín. At his face, his shit-eating grin, the taunting glint in his eye. But mostly he stares at his legs. Exposed. Offered.

Andrés has always considered shorts to be one of the worst things a man could wear. A sign of weakness, betraying a lack of taste. And _wedding shorts_ , especially paired with Martin's bespoke suit jacket, are simply an abomination. 

And still, as Martín proudly strolls back into the courtyard, Andrés is physically unable to take his eyes off of him. This outfit is unacceptable, yes. And the fact that Martín would wear that _today_ , positively offensive. But Andrés cannot bring himself to hate it. Not entirely. 

Oh, he's definitely going to tear those shorts off of him at some point. But not just yet.

“Everyone, please make some noise for our very own blushing bride!”, Nairobi announces from somewhere behind him. “We welcome back Palermo after a costume change and ready for some action. Can we get a _"_ _wahoo"_ for - drum-roll please - the _garter of the groom!”_

People laugh and clap all around him, but Andrés just rushes to Martín. He grabs his waist to pull him close, and narrowly stops himself from kissing him. Martín doesn't deserve it. Absolutely not. 

Instead Andrés leans to the side, and drags his lips across the shell of his ear as he whispers:

“My my, husband of mine, how bad have you been…”

Martín shivers in his arms, so responsive already. Andrés takes that as his cue to step back, depriving him of his touch entirely.

“I knew it. I knew you'd like it”, Martín boasts.

But Andrés didn't miss the sigh of relief he just breathed against his neck. No. Martín didn't know if he would like it. He'd been nervous. Good.

“Oh, cariño, I _hate_ it. I hate everything about it. You're never wearing that again.”

“Are you sure about that?”, Martín taunts, doing a little twirl and arching his back and- alright. Yes. Andrés _is_ looking.

Before he can get distracted by the way the fabric shows off the curve of Martín's ass, Andrés turns him around so they're facing again. He waits until Martín meets his eyes and, slowly, deliberately, he kneels in front of him. They are both unmistakably reminded of other scenarios that have led them to this position before. And it's not proposals they have in mind. 

Martín's eyes widen, his breath catching in his throat. 

Andrés places both of his hands firmly on Martin's thighs, not looking away from his face for a second.

“Tell me, my dear guests”, he calls, almost yelling, “where do you think I should look first?”

Martín returns his smile, a hint of pink on his cheeks. The suggestions start pouring in.

“On the left leg!”, Río suggests.

“No, the right!”, Tokyo follows immediately, just to contradict him. It's pathetic.

Andrés feels electricity prickling under the palms of his hands, where they rest on Martin's legs. They're both brimming with anticipation.

“It seems we're starting on that side, then”, Andrés decides before dropping a kiss on Martín's left knee. 

He slowly traces a finger up the sensitive skin of his thigh, smiling when he reaches the seam of his shorts. He grabs the fabric, drags it up about two inches and, without any warning, dives in and plants another kiss on the exposed skin. 

He doesn't look up at Martín, doesn't need to in order to know it's working. He repeats the motion, riding up the seam just a little higher, peppering kisses on his thigh. And again. And once more.

Andrés hears the cheers around them. The wild claims that his guests are making. The bets being placed. But he's only focusing on Martín's labored breathing. It's loud. Clear as day, even from where he's kneeling.

Soon enough, Andrés has his entire forearm up Martín's shorts. He laughs in delight when he feels the soft fabric of his boxers under his fingertips. Not on that side, then. Excellent. Andrés was hoping to make this game last a little longer. 

He feels the heat radiating from Martín, senses the tension in his muscles when he fiddles with the seam of his underwear, just a little, before retreating and pulling his hand out entirely.

“Well, friends, it seems there's nothing in here”, Andrés solemnly declares, feigning disappointment. “Well, not _nothing._ But no garter on that side…”, he adds with a wink. Martín is more than a little flushed now, and Andrés is extremely pleased. Oh, how he loves Martín like this. At his mercy. _Learning his lesson_. Andrés could do this for hours. 

He turns around towards his guests and catches a glimpse of Sergio walking away from the scene at a hurried pace, before his eyes land on the other best man.

“Denver, I see you're taking bets”, he comments with a wide smile. “Now that we know where to look, I wonder if anyone can tell me what I'll find. What color do you think it is?”

The chatter and arguing intensifies, and Andrés returns his attention to his _husband_. His flushed, trembling, whimpering husband. He lays both hands low on his right thigh, his grasp tight around it.

“May I try again? Or maybe I should check beforehand…”

He slides his hand up the back of Martín's thigh, above the shorts this time. He hears him cough, feels his muscles shift, and eventually meets resistance as his fingers fiddle with the garter through the fabric. Sinfully high on Martín's thigh. 

Andrés is not stopping there, though. He lets go of the garter to slide his hand even higher, palming Martín's ass through his shorts. Squeezing.

“Yeah, you really hate it, uh?”, Martín quips.

“I'm getting bored”, Andrés lies, and Martín's legs wobble when a firm slap lands on his ass. “Let's see what you're hiding in there.”

Andrés returns his attention to the bottom of the shorts, and slides his hand up Martín right thigh. He lets his nails drag across the warm skin, and Martín lets him.

When he's done teasing, he actually reaches for the garter. He finds it quite easily and pulls it down, not slowly, not gently. Martín is nibbling as his own hand, and Andrés knows he would have moaned audibly if he wasn't. That's the entire reason he switched from the soft, taunting caresses from earlier, to the quick and rough movements he's doing now. Andrés wanted a reaction. Martín muffles it, but he can still hear it.

The fine garment eventually appears under the seam of Martín's shorts, a sight welcomed by applause and deafening cheers. It's lovely.

“I won!”, Manila roars. “I called it, black and red. I'm the closest.”

Andrés ignores her entirely. He makes sure Martín's eyes are still on him when he leans in, bites down on the lace, and starts slowly dragging the garter down Martín's leg. One of Andrés's hands finds its way back up his shorts, caressing the sensitive skin on his inner thigh.

Martín groans, and he mumbles something that sure sounds a lot like _"hijo de puta"._ He no longer deserves the kindness of his touch. 

Andrés slides his hand back down, finding the ticklish spot behind Martín's knee, instead. He makes him squirm a little longer, and finally frees the garter from his teeth, around his ankle. Martín lifts his foot and Andrés takes it off of him.

Well, this was entertaining.

He gets back up on his feet and examines the garter closely, all eyes on him.

The black lace is thin and delicate, tastefully decorated with red and yellow ribbons. Silk and satin. Delightful. Andrés nonchalantly puts it in his pocket, tuning out the background noises of laughter and objections. Denver’s friend thinks she's won the thing, apparently. Nonsense. 

Andrés spots something on Martín's face that intrigues him. That sparkle in his eye again. His satisfied grin. Could it be- 

Black and red. And yellow.

“Really, Martín? It's not-”

“ _Of course_ it is.”

Martín's smile widens, his tongue poking out slightly.

Black, red, and yellow.

The colors of a flag, and not just any flag. Germany.

 _Berlín_. 

Andrés starts laughing, but he's not mocking him. He's charmed, truly. He tries to picture Martín putting it on, like a label. A sign of ownership. Andrés is still reeling from the rush of sensations induced by this little game of theirs, obviously. But he feels- something else. Swelling in his chest. Something not unlike what he feels every single time he catches a glimpse of the golden ring on Martín finger.

 _Mine_.

Andrés grabs Martín's neck with one hand and pulls his head towards him, diving to meet his lips. Martín whimpers and returns the kiss, but he lets Andrés take full control of it, pliant and docile. How rare. Andrés hears the sound of his own groan and just keeps kissing him. Hard. Insistent. As if to mark him. So he can stare, later, at Martín's swollen lips, knowing he did that. And he intends to keep doing that. All day long. Every day.

 _Mine_.

As Andrés deepens the kiss, Martín's arms hover by his sides for a while, unsure. Yearning to touch. With his free hand - the one that isn't in a tight grip around Martín's nape - Andrés reaches for his twitching fingers. Yes, Martín. I'm done playing with you. Yes, you can put your hands on me now. Of course. Always. 

Martín smiles against his lips as their fingers interlace. He's caressing Andrés's own wedding ring as he holds his hand. As though he'd forgotten. As though Andrés could ever stop thinking about the look on Martín's face - the near disbelief, the unadulterated joy - when he slid the ring on Andrés's finger, just a few hours ago.

 _Mine_ , Andrés thinks once again. An endless litany in his mind. A blissful reminder. A mantra.

 _Mine_.

 _Yours_.

**Author's Note:**

> Because this is the world we live in, apparently, there is a gorgeous sketch inspired by this fic, credit to [boom_slap](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com/post/624818768101720064/praise-to-a-multi-talented-artist-the-wonderful). Watch me freak out about it forever.
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Many thanks to [boom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap) (who else?) for the idea. And for making me look at [wedding shorts](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB18g0guDdYBeNkSmLyq6xfnVXas/Blue-Casual-Men-Suit-With-Short-Pant-Slim-Fit-2-Piece-Jacket-Pants-Tie-Latest-wedding.jpg) with my own two eyeballs, like I could just picture Martín Berrote wearing _that_ and do nothing about it. _As if._  
>  (Happy Belated Birthday?)
> 
> ~~~
> 
> 💛 💛 💛 💛 💛  
>  **@[ _shotgun-cake_](https://shotgun-cake.tumblr.com)** on Tumblr  
>  **@[ _Shotgun_Cake_](https://twitter.com/Shotgun_Cake?s=09)** on Twitter


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